Their being this far north made even less sense now, if Duvan had been their destination. They should have been on an entirely different road—a southern road.
His brow creased. “Why did you come so far north?”
Finn rubbed a hand over his thigh, looking a little nervous. “We, uh, didn’t leave Lythe to come to Mortise. We went to Wexon first, to live with some of Mama’s family.”
Ah. That explained their position so far north. If they’d been in Wexon, then they’d traveled to Mortise via the town of Stills, just as Venn and the others had.
But plenty of things about Finn’s story remained odd. “If you were staying with family, why did you leave Wexon?”
It was a variation of a question he’d asked before, but Finn answered this time—maybe because it was worded differently, or perhaps his guard was finally lowering. “Some soldiers were asking my father questions. I didn’t hear what they were, but one night they came into the house and dragged him out. He didn’t come back for two days, and when he did . . .” His tongue darted over his lips and his voice lowered. “Mama didn’t know I saw, because I sneaked out of bed, but he was all bloody, and he was missing three fingers.”
None of this sounded good. To be detained, questioned, and tortured . . . that only happened if a man was a criminal, or an informant for criminals—or a rebel. The fact that he was released was strange. If the city guard was sure enough about an arrest, it generally meant they had enough evidence to convict a man. And there was always a trial. So why release him?
Unless they’d wanted to follow him . . .
The fact that David Holm had fled to Mortise with his family spoke volumes about his guilt, and it only made Venn more curious about his crime.
Finn watched him closely, so Venn kept his expression neutral. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Finn.”
The boy shot him a glare. “I know you think my father is a bad man, but he isn’t. It was all a mistake.”
Venn wasn’t about to debate David Holm’s guilt with his son. “Sometimes the wrong men are arrested,” he allowed.
“All of it was wrong,” Finn insisted. “They weren’t even real soldiers.”
Venn frowned. “What do you mean?”
Finn shrugged. “They wore blue uniforms, but they had gold arm bands, here, just below the shoulder. And they kept saying,By order of the crown prince—not the king. And they didn’t call themselvesthe Guard—they called themselvesthe Hunt.”
Confusion rippled through Venn. “I’ve never heard of the Hunt.” And why would a group of soldiers operate on Prince Grandeur’s authority, rather than King Newlan’s?
“Me neither,” Finn said. “My parents kept saying the same thing when my father was arrested. But he isn’t a bad man. He shouldn’t have been arrested.”
They might have said more, but Vera and Sarah returned, and Finn’s mouth clamped shut. He shot a hard look at Venn, warning him not to speak of these things in front of Sarah—not that he’d intended to say anything.
Vera caught the exchange and raised an eyebrow, but Venn shook his head. He would fill her in later.
Truthfully, he’d like a little time to mull over everything Finn had said. None of it made sense, and he didn’t like any of it.
Chapter 9
Vera
By the time they made camp for the evening, the children were exhausted. In all fairness, Vera was just as tired, and she knew Venn had to be feeling the effects of the long day. But he didn’t let that show as he fed Rebecca. He smiled at her, and at Sarah who leaned against his knee so she could better watch the baby drink.
Vera volunteered to prepare dinner; partly because cooking was more familiar to her than tending children, but mostly because then she could watch Venn interact with them.
He had a gift with children. And though she didn’t understand why, seeing him hold the baby or talk with Finn and Sarah warmed every part of her. She couldn’t look away.
He patiently answered all of Sarah’s constant questions, and when it was time to burp Rebecca, he repositioned her against his shoulder with practiced ease.
While he gently patted her back, Sarah asked, “Will she spit on you again?”
“Maybe. Babies do that sometimes.”
“Does it make you mad?”
“Not at all,” Venn said, adding a string of Zennorian words.
